


the fox in the forest

by nohatoclato



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Murder Mystery, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23705209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohatoclato/pseuds/nohatoclato
Summary: cato kelly moved back to his midwestern hometown, and becomes involved in the case of a missing young woman, with the help of her hard-bitten, alluring best friend.
Relationships: Cato/Clove (Hunger Games)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Cato loaded the last of his boxes into the back of the truck, and slammed the trunk door shut behind it. He jumped into the front seat, wishing desperately for a cup of coffee to jump start him out of his slump. His coffee maker was in a box in the backseat- maybe he had time to run back inside and make a cup. Or two.

With a sigh, he shut the door behind himself, and let the idea go. He was just dragging his feet, doing anything he could to stay in his apartment for a little while longer. The apartment was empty now, nothing but a hollow shell, where he used to put all the things that were now in boxes. There was nothing to go back for. He was slightly jealous of whoever got to live there, but he forced himself to remember that moving was his own choice. 

He put the car into gear and took off down the street. It would be the last time he’d ever leave as a resident.

* * *

Cato clammed on the brakes. A huge Elk had materialized almost out of nowhere, and stopped straight in the middle of the road. With deep, wet eyes, it stared straight at Cato, almost as if each was questioning what the other was doing there. Studying him, maybe.

California didn’t get elk. It was a beautiful sight, a feat of nature, a kind of nature that California didn’t get, so Cato didn’t really anymore, except in Nat Geo.

Cato wasn’t in the mood. As he raised his hand to the horn to honk, the elk, equally annoyed, lumbered off toward the woods beyond the road, antlers shaking.

Cato rolled his eyes, and kept driving. The wet roads twisted and dipped, and the capped mountains sped by. The October wind shook the bare trees, and the rain, which had been coming down in a slight trickle, grew slightly.

He took another turn, and, almost suddenly, Cato ended up in Ketchum. 

His childhood memories weren’t up to date, he thought as he drove. He’d have to get reacquainted with the town, because  _ none  _ of what he was seeing was ringing any bells. Each side of the street was like one half of a before and after picture: one street was dated, with aged, depressing buildings, and the other side was modern, fashionable.

As Cato kept driving, the pattern continued: old on the left, and new on the right. He drove past what could be considered main attractions. A park or two, clothing stores, a small museum-thingy. The streets were virtually abandoned, except for the occasional straggler swaddled like they lived in the North Pole. Cato was grateful that his second-hand truck had a working heater, and wasn’t anticipating the moment when he would have to step out into the cold.

He turned around the corner, and, again, something darted out in front of the truck. A  _ someone _ !

Cato slammed his foot on the brake. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He gaped at the person (who obviously had a death wish). It was someone slight and small, flyaway dark hair sticking out from under their black hat. Their entire ensemble was pitch black, contrasting with their snow-pale skin. 

Cato loured, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He slammed his fist down on the horn, teeth gritting so hard he could almost hear them creaking in his head.

The driving hazard glared back, flicking a less-than-contrite middle finger his way. Then, they darted off.

First day back, and he’d almost committed manslaughter, something that had never happened before, and, with no one else around, a story too grim to be believable.

He was flush with rage, growing hot under his jacket. As he drove on, his head was on a constant swivel as he counted buildings to calm down, and to avoid anymore… surprises. 

Cato remembered the inn much differently, though he was aware it probably looked the exact same as it had when he had visited as a kid, when he was that age, the whole thing was far more impressive. Now, as an adult, the inn was just an inn. A two-story, cream-colored building with it’s cottage-style green shutters, windows made of brown glass, and a sign on the front lawn flapping in the wind. 

_ Trinket’s B&B,  _ owned by his Aunt, was where he spent his summers for years, until he was a teenager, and thought he was too cool to be around his family anymore. Then, the summer visits slowed down, before they stopped altogether. He had already moved to Portland when his parents died. The last time he’d seen his Aunt was at the funeral.

Cato pulled into the driveway, and parked. He reached across the seat, and pulled his backpack into his lap. Then, he popped his door open to step out.

Damn, it was cold. It was cold as shit; the wind was biting, the air was dry. Cato was fighting against the cold with nothing but a sherpa-lined jacket and a sweater with no undershirt. 

He waltzed through the front entrance, smoothing his hair. Then he made a turn to the reception desk. His aunt was looking over papers there, dyed pink curls hanging down.

He coughed once, to signify his arrival.

Aunt Effie didn’t look up, too deep in her scribbling.

Cato opted for a more direct approach. “I’m here!” He announced.

She startled, and screamed slightly, her hand flying to her chest. She glared as she tracked the disruption, but when she saw Cato, she looked at him with all the fondness in the world. She ran around the corner, and threw herself at his arms. 

“Oh my goodness!” She shrieked with a voice that was loud enough as is, and her embrace was shockingly tight for how small she was. “You’ve gotten so big, I can’t believe it! God, and you look so handsome!”

Accepting praise from your own family was kind of like a participation trophy- you received it no matter what, and it wasn’t the kind of “trophy” that mattered anyway. But Cato was still beaming. “Thank you, Effie.”

She shrieked again, hands flying up to her mouth, which was shellacked with a pale pink lip gloss. “Your voice is so deep! And your beard! So rugged, ugh! I feel old.”

She burrowed herself into his jacket again, and kept talking. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ve read some of your articles and your essays. You are so talented, Kit. I always knew you were going places! I said it to you every time I saw you, didn’t I.”

“You did,” Cato nodded. “You always said it.”

Her perfume was painfully strong, the room was starting to spin. How long ago did he walk through the door? Effie was talking herself in circles.

“I’m so glad you’re home.” Effie said. “I made a room for you, even though I know you’re moving on tomorrow. But I want to enjoy you for tonight. Your company, I mean!”

She drew away from him, and instantly, she was like a fly buzzing around the room, going to the desk to stow the papers, running to the fireplace in the sitting room and throwing more logs into the inferno. She reached into a cozy wicker basket and pulled out a plush blanket. 

“Come sit by the fire,” She called to him. When she saw his hesitation, she added. “For a little bit. Then, I’ll let you get settled.”

Cato dropped his protests. He was too cold, too tired from the drive to argue with her and her endless hospitality, so he threw his backpack (gently) to the side, untied his boots and toed them off, and then joined his aunt on the couch. With a great groan like some big old animal, he sat down on the couch. 

She sat down beside them. With a beaming smile, she threw the blanket over their laps, and settled in beside him. A long conversation was just over the horizon. Possibly, they would talk until the sun slipped from the sky. 

“You look good.” Aunt Effie said, rehashing what she’d made plenty clear before. “So strong. How has Portland been treating you?” 

Cato bit his lip, attentive of her choice of tenses.  _ Has.  _ Did she know that he wasn’t going back to Portland? Did she ignore it, maybe in order to be pleasantly surprised? “Good. It’s been-  _ was _ good.”

“That is so wonderful.” She rubbed a hand up his arm. “But I’m sure you can make anywhere home.” 

Her sentence implied that Cato would settle easily, become a part of Ketchum’s daily life. That he would simply just be. Cato had no idea when that would happen, or  _ if.  _ Every great movement in his life held that lulling space in between him fully owning it, and him being nothing more than a passenger on life’s ship, simply tossed about. Going to college, and choosing his dumbass major. Portland before his parents funeral. Portland  _ after _ his parents funeral. Quitting his job. Leaving Portland. Soon, in the wake of moving back to Ketchum, that space would be upon him, once again.

He gave a tired blink. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Did you meet anyone?” She asked, completely fucking unprompted. 

Cato stiffened. He forgot that Aunts liked to burden themselves with that information. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Aunt Effie playfully poked his shoulder. “I asked you if you met someone. Like a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, or whoever.”

“No.” Cato said, voice strained. “I didn’t.”

“What, the whole time? Like, 7 years and you didn’t meet anyone?” Aunt Effie questioned him. “I find that hard to believe. Did something go wrong?”

“Something is  _ definitely _ going wrong. I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed! I mean, I was hot back in my day, and you’re hot  _ now,  _ so I kind of understand.”

“I got you a gift,” Cato blurted, desperate to move on from the conversation. He pulled the blanket off and reached into his backpack, he fished around a bit for what he was looking for, burying his hand underneath piles of his road trip supplies. When he found it, he rescued it from his backpack and handed it over. 

She oohed and ahhed, and gently unwrapped it. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer, she’d find out in a matter of seconds.

She shrieked when she opened the box. She’d been doing a lot of that, Cato thought. “Jewelry!” 

She lifted the necklace out of the box. It was a silver necklace with a dangling pink stone, in the center of a silver butterfly. The box contained a pair of matching earrings. 

“Oh god,” She whispered, pushing the blanket off. “It’s so beautiful.” She stood up to hug him, once again overwhelming him in the smell of her perfume. 

He craned his neck to give her a doting kiss on her forehead. “You’re worth it.”

When they finally peeled apart, was when Cato had the chance to run to his truck and grab his suitcase. It was even colder, he thought. Probably because of that half hour by the fire. 

When he hauled his suitcase inside from his trunk, shivering all the while, Effie gave a shocked mumble. 

“That’s gotta be so heavy!” Her hands were folded across her chest. “You are so strong.”

“You said that already.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

He struggled with his suitcase, up the stairs. He didn’t even bother to set it somewhere when he opened the door to his room, simply tossing it near him on the floor.

Yawning, he looked around the room at the clean, if not sumptuous layout. Effie had either pulled out all the decorating stops (forgetting that he was a butch, adult man), or she’d posted him in the fanciest room she’d already decorated.

The floor, partially covered in an expensive-looking powder blue rug, was made of a shining wood tinged with an orange-adjacent red. Cato’s socks slid against the uncovered parts. 

The furniture was waifish, unprepared for the slightest stain. The chairs were an unassuming light gray, made of suede fabric, with frilly and fluffy pillows weighing them down. A seasonal plant arrangement (scented pine cones, polished sticks, and little white foam balls) stuck out from a white vase, sitting atop a little coffee table. 

The bed looked the most comfortable: big, plush, sturdy. It was beckoning to his weary body. He didn’t even remember crossing to it, just the feeling of himself hitting the comforter, and he didn’t even remember going to sleep, just waking up to a sound, in the dark with a drool soaked jacket sleeve pressed against his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes I edited this chapter. it didn't sit right with me. a lot of things aren't sitting right with me lately. :(

His aunt had the table all made up and fancy, donned with a stainless white tablecloth, an offbeat vase in the center of the table, shaped like a greco-roman bust, with white flowers and wheat-looking things. Candles glinted, filling the dimly lit dining room with dancing shadows.

Cato sat himself across from his Uncle Haymitch, who was leaning comfortable against the back of the seat. 

Haymitch was Effie’s long-time partner, in life and in business. Had blue-gray eyes, blonde hair to his chin, and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard. He also had a weathered, grim demeanor like nothing had ever gone right in his life. Haymitch had been like a father to Cato for as long as he could remember.

His uncle took a swig of something clear and bubbly. “Alright, alright.” He said, when he put his drink down, casting a wink in Cato’s direction. “The prodigal son hath returned.”

Cato grabbed his glass, and reached across to clink theirs together. “Here I am.”

Aunt Effie came bounding out, balancing a serving tray with steaming plates in one hand, with a bottle of wine in her other hand. She carried with her the familiar scent of spaghetti, the meal Aunt Effie made perfectly for Cato everytime her nephew rolled into Ketchum.

She set the glass of wine on the table, then the serving tray, and passed out plates of spaghetti to Cato and Haymitch. She procured a corkscrew for the bottle of wine, and came around to lovingly pour some into Cato’s glass.

Cato stared at his plate. The colorful confetti, the simplistic tigers, the Leo symbol from the zodiac splashed over and over on a pink background. “Where did you get these?”

“I made them,” She replied, proudly, as she took her place beside Haymitch, across from Cato. “There’s a ceramics place a little bit away that your uncle takes me to for my birthday. “You like it? I’m letting you use my favorite one, because I love you that much.

“I like it.” Cato reached for his fork. He dug into the noodles, welcomed with a blast of steam, and the savory aroma. 

It tasted as good as he remembered. Maybe even better, because children and teenagers rarely appreciate good food, which this definitely was. He didn’t bother with the meatballs that sat in a perfect circle around the pasta at the outskirts of his plate, just twirled endless noodles onto his fork, eating diligently, almost blindly.

He heard his aunt’s voice a mile away. “Your uncle and I have been grinning from ear to ear, since you told us you were coming!”

Cato looked up, with a mouthful of spaghetti, hoping they didn’t expect him to say anything.

“ _ She’s  _ been grinning.” Uncle Haymitch pointed.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Effie poked at her spaghetti and spun it around to catch a few noodles. Then she nibbled, like a little mouse. She wore an expensive kind of red lipstick, the kind that didn’t come off for 24 hours. “I love my nephew, and for that, I refuse to apologize.”

“How long do we have you for, Nephew?” Haymitch asked, reaching for his fork.

Cato shrugged, swiping at his mouth with his napkin, and forcing himself to taking a break from his tireless eating. “I’m kind of playing it by ear.”

Uncle Haymitch nodded. Then he practically unhinged his jaw to shovel food past his lips. 

He wasn’t really a man with a lot to say, as time and recovery had stolen a bit of his chatter. But he’d chosen his polar opposite in a life partner, who always had something to say.

The Inn was in his name, but it was Aunt Effie’s baby, ditching her years of waitressing, and her dream of owning a salon to look after the Inn that was abandoned to Haymitch by a dead, estranged uncle. 

Obviously excited, his aunt poorly concealed her smile behind her forkful of spaghetti. “Don’t be in any hurry. Y’know. To go back home.”

“This is home, Aunt Eff,” Cato replied, after a beat, resting a hand on top of his aunts.

She broke into a pleased pout, glancing at Haymitch to check if he’d heard how sweet their nephew was.

His Uncle was nearly unintelligible, still eating like he’d never get another chance. “What’re you here for, anyway?”

Cato twitched. This was the first time he was hearing that question from someone that wasn’t him. Now, the only family he had left were sitting before him, asking him outside of his head.

“Change of scenery?” Aunt Effie chimed. “Are you on an assignment from work?”

\----- 

  
  


Cato paused, his gaze sinking to his lap. He could step on different stones here: he could speak through the metal in his mouth and tell his aunt and uncle the truth, or he could tell as much as possible without giving himself away. 

Quickly, because they were waiting. 

“No, it’s not a work assignment.” He took a slow, demanding sip of whatever wine Effie had laid out for him, trying to force it down his throat, which was rapidly closing up.

Cato took a sip, and began to tell as much of the truth as possible without giving himself away. “No. It’s not a work assignment.”

“So…” Haymitch wiped his face vigorously with a napkin, to Aunt Effie’s obvious chagrin. “You’re just visiting?”

Cato cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean.. I’m just playing it by ear, y’know?”

Aunt Effie squealed through a flashy smile. “Stay as long as you need. I want you to get settled in this town. See how it’s changed since you’ve been gone.”

“Like what?” If parts of the town had suddenly evolved, it would be nothing that Cato noticed. His childhood memories of this town had all been wiped clean, it seemed. Ketchum had been preserved in his mind, like a bug stuck in amber.

Aunt Effie set her fork back onto her plate. Her spaghetti had barely been eaten, and she was already wiping her clean face and hands with a napkin. “Well, we got a new mayor.”

Uncle Haymitch was at the other end of the spectrum: plate almost bare and clearly disdainful. “Yup.”

Cato twirled his fork around his fingers. “What’s wrong with the mayor?”

“Your uncle is a conspiracy theorist. He thinks the whole family is corrupt.” 

Haymitch sat up straight, pointedly glaring at Effie, who was wholly unaffected. He seemed to be fuelled by the conspiracy. “Nepotists almost always are.”

“Nepotists?” Cato asked. 

“The first one, he handed the job off to his son, and his son passed it onto his son, and so on. Now this one's gonna hand it to his daughter. That little girl. Y’know his daughter?”

“No, because he only met her once.” Effie’s frown at Haymitch, was localized on his mouth, which Cato realized had traces of spaghetti sauce on it, that added an entirely new level of comedy. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Cato gave a sad little laugh.

“The little one. She’s really pale, and she’s got the freckles and those little doll eyes?”

Haymitch’s visage was becoming stormier as he spoke. Cato couldn’t help but be confused, but he played along. “Distantly.”

“Well,” His uncle moved on. “The whole town is in love with her.”

“ _ Was.”  _ Effie corrects, and lovingly pets at his face with her napkin. “When she was little, and things weren’t so…”

“What? So what?” Cato’s eyes flicked back and forth between his aunt’s focused gaze and the look of irritation sparkling in his uncle’s eyes. “What happened?”

Aunt effie dropped the napkin. Her smile was slight, not enough to be real. “Her mother went missing, and she started acting out. Poor thing, losing a parent like that.”

“‘Poor thing?’” Haymitch scoffed. “That ‘thing’ has had life handed to her on a silver platter. Her mother probably ran away from all of that lordly, old-money bullshit.”

“Language.” Effie reminded him, gently. “Anyway, it probably couldn’t have helped constantly being put in the public eye like that.”

Cato looked around the table for confirmation.. “So she’s not going to be mayor?”

Uncle Haymitch scoffed. “Oh, just you wait. Some fucking miracle. By some fucking miracle she’s going to be mayor. That’s what this family wants. They’re like the mob.”

Her gaze milky and sweet, Effie took a quick sip of wine. “Why are you only this talkative when it’s about local politics?”

Haymitch froze. His demeanor of strife and frustration, lifting. 

When Cato met his uncle, he learned the lesson that sometimes, you can be in a room with two people, while they are in a room of their own. Every gaze between his aunt and uncle made him feel like an intruder in their perfect space, the silent conversation between two opposite, yet equal, parts.

He cleared his throat. “What else? What’s not politics?”

“Nothing much,” His Aunt said simply. 

Cato stood up to leave. “I think I’m going to go and organize my stuff. Aunt Eff… dinner was spectacular.”

“Spectacular!” She said, looking away from Haymitch to beam at her nephew. “I haven’t heard that in a long time.”

“Well, I mean it.” He made to leave, taking his plate.

“Don’t you want cake?” Aunt Effie reached out for him, placing a hand on his wrist to stop him. “I made some cake.”

“I don’t think I could take another bite.” Cato rubbed a hand on his stomach. “If I eat anything else I might literally die.”

“Lightweight,” Haymitch quipped.

“I’ll save some for later!” Aunt Effie offered. “I’ll wash off your plate and put it under some foil. Okay?”

Cato set the plate on the table, and stood to leave.

“Could you do me a favor?” A voice piped up. 

“Sure, Aunt Eff.” Cato smiled.

“I hate to ask it of you. You can say no, and I’ll just go get it tomorrow.”

“Can you tell me what it is, first?”

She laughed, nervously. “Some sparkling water? That little grocery store sells them. Right around the corner.”

Cato chanced a look at his uncle, who, apparently, still wasn’t driving. Whether or not he’d earned his license back, Cato didn’t know. “That’s fine. I’ll go right now.”

The light that sparked in her eyes reminded Cato of why it was so hard to say no to her.

  
  


He drove, retracing his miles to the general store, which was pretty straightforward.

The general store was on the modern side of the street. It was a single-story building, painted white, with black detailing and  _ Quicksmart  _ in fancy black signage above a glass door.

The black and white pattern followed through to the inside of the store. The floor looked like a chessboard, the shelves were black with small black and white aisle signs. 

Standing behind the counter, just as tall and wide as Cato, was a black man with a calm, distant look in his eyes. His arms, bulged as they folded over his chest, concealing his name tag.

Cato walked on past the counter, following the aisle signs to lead him to the drinks.

When he got to the aisle, he realized that he’d forgotten to ask what kind, exactly. There were so many bottles, with so many different kinds. Cato wasn’t sure of the last time he’d ever drank sparkling water.

His eyes drifted to the bottle with the flashiest, prettiest label, and he somehow had a gut feeling that was the right choice, grabbing it off of the shelf.

As he walked the bottle up to the counter, his phone buzzed once in his pocket. 

He fished it out, seeing a familiar name flash across the screen. He stepped forward, into the line, behind the small black shadow of a child.

**Glimmer:** How is Idaho? Is it corny?

Cato quickly shoved the bottle under his arm, his fingers flying over the screen.

**Cato:** It’s barely anything

**Glimmer:** what does that mean?

**Cato:** it means that it’s idaho. What interesting things ever happen in Idaho?

The sudden shout he heard made him look up from his phone at the person ahead of him in line. 

It wasn’t a child- but it was someone short, with their heels dug into the ground and a shaking hand at their side holding a stack of colorful paper.

Cato gave a glance to the man behind the counter, to the tag on his chest that claimed that his name was “Thresh”. He looked back and forth as they argued, loudly.

“It’s just one fucking poster!”

“I’m sorry. You know the last time that it happened was a fucking joke. I’m not taking the heat for that kind of panic again.”

“It’s not a joke! Mia is gone!” She shrieked. “Would she ever do something like that? You knew her! The whole fucking town knew her!”

She jammed a thumb in Cato’s direction, and Cato glanced over his shoulder to look for the person she was probably pointing at. There was no one, just an empty aisle, shiny with fluorescent lights.

When he turned back around, Thresh was staring at him, a bit like he was an animal in the zoo, but the girl was going on and on. 

“I bet I could ask him, and he wouldn’t have a bad thing to say about Mia.”

When she turned around, it was Cato’s turn to be shocked, his eyes widening, his blood running a little bit hot. “You!”

“Huh?” The girl frowned. 

“I almost hit you with my car!”

  
  
  
  
  


It was the contrast of the pale skin against the girl’s black hair that gave a dangerous, familiar lurch in the pit of his stomach.

His eyes widened to the size of golf balls. “You! I almost ran over you!”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! wedding!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey! this is a short chapter because I've been going through a lot this.... period of my life. I'm sorry for the sudden changes in formatting. PLEASE tell me if the spacing is too much or too little or you need extra spaces between the words or something because I swear I'll take it into consideration.

Cato wasn’t sure how someone could forget almost being hit by a car.

Yet, here she was, short and pale, fliers in her hand, and a stupid look on her face.

“What?”

“Yes! You ran in front of my car!” Cato stared into her eyes, dark like charcoal. Framed by thick, dark lashes. Kind of sad.

“Oh.” The girl replied. Then, without a fleck of honesty, she said, “Yeah, I remember. I’m sorry.”

Cato had a suspicion that she was lying, though he couldn’t prove it.

She turned back around to the counter, holding out a flier for Thresh. “If this is a prank, I will call your manager myself and apologize. If she comes back and it was all some fucked-up joke, I’ll take the heat. I swear. Please.”

Thresh, who was still shaken up by Cato’s confession, stuck out his hand for the flier, and turned around to pin it to the corkboard behind his head.

The girl thanked Thresh profusely, then turned around again. She had a flier in her hand for Cato to take. “When you’re telling everyone about how you almost murdered me, can you tell them that my friend is missing?”

She took their gazes with them as she left, marching out of the front doors.

“Who the hell was that?” Cato didn’t stop for casualties, laying the bottle onto the counter. 

“That’s Clove.” Thresh said, holding the bottle, but not really looking at it. “We went to school together. We all went to school together.”

“Clove?”

“Like garlic.” Thresh suggested, passing the bottle through the swiper, pressing the buttons of the register.

Cato shoved his card into the chip reader. “Like cloves.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say that it feels kind of weird that to reuse characters in this fandom because the guy who killed Clove is suddenly just a nice guy who works at a convenience store. I guess I feel... bad? Because Suzanne Collins original story was about rebellion and revolution and stuff like that, and I'm like... I'm gonna take these two characters and make them fall in love and pretend they live in our world. But on the other hand, I'm smart enough to know what Suzanne Collins message was, and her direction for the books, so I guess it doesn't matter all that much. No matter what, Clato is the thing that keeps me believing in love, so I'm just gonna do me.


End file.
